#ipswichspy

[airiejynx]

Flaneur; The Moment.

The moment. 

 The more I think about it the more it becomes a valid concept. 

 Life is a series of a million moments, each waiting to swoop you off your feet and clutch you in ecstasy; a beautiful sunset, an intimate kiss, a perfect alinement of stars and clouds at 2am on a Summers eve. 

 Why is it such a big deal when we have these "moments"? 

 Today's society dictates to us that we must marry, remain monogamous forever while sprouting offspring, and attending our 9-5 everyday....

 I disagree. 

 I am a 25 year old female, tied to no one or thing, and I am happy. I cannot deny that I've been wrapped up in the system previously; at 20 I was settled in a relationship, ready to marry and trying for a baby. 

 I am now half way through a Masters Degree- which would have been impossible if I'd continued with that lifestyle. Doing the things that I expected to make me happy, because that's what I'd been brought up to believe; as a "Disney child". 

 A man WILL make me happy, I am never to lift a finger for myself and must always be the damsel in distress. 

 NO. I'm fighting back from this mindset. 

 The notion that I'd like to put to you, is a society that doesn't believe in "relationships" monogamous or not. That everyone remains "single". The media leads us to believe that being "single" is a negative way to live, and I am putting to you that the word "single" would not even exist if I had my way. 

 Imagine this: 

You have been married a year, and you walk past a beautiful stranger in the street/ supermarket/ coffee shop. You catch each other's eye; your heart jumps a beat, and in that split second, you know each other inside and out. You are synchronised eternally, you then pass on and the "moment" is gone. Did it ever exist? Of course it did. You both felt it. 

 But now you wonder if that means your feelings for your spouse have changed. You feel a small level of guilt, for experiencing something so wonderful with someone else. This then makes you feel a tiny level of resentment for your spouse. If you weren't 'tied down' then this beautiful moment wouldn't feel so dirty. 

 Months later, it happens again. 

 Moment. Guilt. Resentment. 

 And again. 

 And again. 

 Catching my drift? Imagine this happening over and over again, for years. Except now, you don't just resent your spouse, you feel it in yourself too. Your self esteem is low, you love your spouse, of course you do. But, what if?

 I see examples of this around me on a daily basis. And most are totally unaware, believing that this is how they are meant to feel. "I love my spouse, but...." 

 Again, I disagree. You do not love your spouse. ESPECIALLY if you don't love yourself, which, if facing the circumstance I set above, you most certainly do not. And it's not your fault, it's the way you have been led to believe you should live.

 I love myself. Of that I’m certain. And you can love yourself, if you want to. Beyond that, you cannot specifically "love" another person, another being. 

 Those "moments" that I mentioned earlier, I am suggesting that's where the love lies. 

 "Love" is construct of society, and another is "Time". Time carries more guilt and resentment. You dislike yourself for ageing, for being late to an appointment, for that younger member of staff at work "getting more attention that you". Why? Because the media encourages us to change the way we look, dress and act, to be more beautiful. 

 YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL. 

 Believe it! Love yourself! 

 So I said you can't love another person. And I said that time is just a made up construct. 

 I believe that instead of falling in love with a person, or thing; you fall in love with the moment, and that person or thing just happens to be in it... 

 Each time you look into the eyes of your spouse, your best friend, or your child I am suggesting that the rush of love that you experience, is momentary and only lies within yourself. That's why it makes you feel good inside. There is no denying that this feeling is sometimes requited, and is therefore fortunate moment synchronisation. Well done for aligning with another! 

 As you embrace "the moment" more and more, you will find it becoming more natural and more rewarding, no longer will you crave the attention of a spouse or partner, you will be fulfilled in yourself, and then glow with an intense momentary wonder. 

 So.... If life and love are just a series of moments..... Tumble in, accept every ounce of love, inspiration and awe, and jump back out... Ready for the next.

 "I'm in love with this moment, you just happen to be in it." Dotchin, J. (2015). 

Will, K. 'The Moment' (2015).

[airiejynx]

Flaneur; Deal With It.

I set myself the goal today of attempting to go swimming. I haven't been in the pool since I thought the chlorine was triggering migraines- before I realised the real cause of my headaches; the exertion, in a roundabout way. My swimming costume was in my flat, so the first task of the day was to slowly walk up the seven flights of stairs up to the place that I've been calling home. It's the second time I've done it since I stopped staying there, over two months ago. I was nervous, I was on my own, and I did it. The flat now feels alien to me. Once my home, now a shell that contains my material belongings. I found my swimming costume, and wandered around slowly, taking it all in. My housemate has understandably dominated the whole of the shared living space, now a total mess; covered in dirty plates and general clutter. She soon appears behind me, ready to stake a metaphorical knife in my back. Declaring that I've been a terrible friend, she states that I am dealing with things wrong. She questions that If I can drink alcohol, then why can't I go back to work and move back in? Because that's what my doctor said.... At no point throughout this experience has anyone that claims to be my friend tried to dictate to me how I should be feeling or dealing with things. She continues to stand in front of me demanding money and answers; things I cannot give her, and don't have to? I don't owe anybody anything. Anyone that is truly my friend is grateful that I am alive, and that is enough. I am stunned by this reaction. Saddened, even. I continue with my day, the highlight of my day - I am going swimming! I change out of my clothes, my swimming costume now a bit tight... I've put on half a stone since I stayed in hospital. Nervous, anxious, excited for so many reasons, I sit at the edge of the pool and smile to myself. Here I am. Alive, and now kicking! If I'd broken my leg, I would still be house bound, and restricted by my physical capabilities. And yet here I was, about to swim, five weeks after brain surgery. I decided that no matter how much I wanted to push myself, I would only do five lengths in the pool. Next time, maybe more? The fact that there will be a next time, is enough for me. Sooo... Today I've walked seven flights of stairs, and swam five lengths, just five weeks after brain surgery. If anyone feels sorry for themselves for having a cold, or a sniffle, please take a step back from your life and reassess....

[airiejynx]

Flaneur; A continued reality

It's 23 Jan '15.

On the 4th Dec '14, on the 6 year anniversary of my Grandad's death, from a ruptured aneurysm, I got a call from Addenbrookes Hospital telling me that the thing in my head was not a tumour, but an aneurysm. After 3 cancellations, and weeks of waiting, I was finally operated on on the 24th Dec '14. Yes, on Christmas Eve. 

Friends came to visit, including Christmas day, but I was so drugged up the whole day floated by like a unicorn riding a fluffy cloud... 

I stayed in hospital until 29th Dec '14, when I was finally allowed home.

There are so many experiences - good and bad that I could linger on and describe to the second, however I am so bored of regurgitating the same information over and over to each person that thinks they are the first to ask, that I'd rather concentrate on now.. as me. 

Me.

Who am I?

Am I the same person? 

My concentration and short term memory are buggered, aspects of my personality that were once imperative. 

What makes me the same person? The thoughts in my head? My face? The way I hug?

I am curious. 

I was terrified at the prospect of no longer being able to draw. It literally kept me awake worrying. Alas, I can still draw, perhaps marginally better than before? Apparently I can still write, also. 

Slowly my life is returning to me, but I am still existing in this tiny shell; my glistening bubble of life reflecting down onto me, taunting me. People from my bubble come and go, however I remain on the edge, waiting for the moment that I can return to my life. 

The harsh realisation that my life will never be the same is something I've had to adjust to. It still hasn't hit. I haven't tried to pull a pint, swim, or cycle, since my surgery. I am "convalescing'.  Taking it easy. 

I've spent forever longing for time to just take it easy and catch up with myself. And yet here I am, eagerly awaiting my first shift back at work, and back in front of a computer typing up mindless essays for university. 

It's an odd existence.

But an existence nonetheless.

I am grateful to be here; to be alive and (not yet) kicking. 

Life's priorities suddenly become very clear when you are faced with a potential death sentence. When you look the man in the eye who states he "may not be able to save you" and nod, what else can you possibly do?

"You will die if you don't have this procedure. You also may not survive this procedure - a 25-40% rate of stroke/brain damage/ death. Shall we go ahead" 

Fuck.

I walked into the theatre and laid down. At peace with the thought that I would not wake up. I genuinely expected to close my eyes, and never open them again. 

And here I am. The other side. 

Life.

[airiejynx]

Fundraising!

https://www.justgiving.com/Kelly-Will

[airiejynx]

The Flaneur: Mind-numbing Reality.

So two days ago I got told I have a brain tumour. A 4.8cm x 3.6cm growth on the left of my brain. What the fuck. After years of complaining about headaches, and pushing it this year to be taken seriously, I now have an answer. An answer that means I'm going to have my hair shaved, my skull cut open and my forever headache taken away, forever. Fuck. So.... Lots of questions. I've decided to keep a "tumour diary" from the moment I was told, till; well recovery, I suppose. Trying to see the positives in this. I can donate my hair to someone. They can cut it out and fix me. I might get to spend more of the Christmas period with my family than I expected. I have some new material to write about. I have a reason to work harder at uni - if I can pass a Masters Degree with a brain tumour I can conquer the world. When my tumour diary is complete, I'm going to type it up and post it as a new blog, for people in the same situation to read. I've looked at quite a few sites and none seem to cover the nitty gritty of feelings and the mundane. By sharing my questions, feelings and story it'll hopefully provide some peace for other people. Finding it really strange that as a result of trying to distract myself, I'm focusing ten times better on research for uni, that I usually struggle with. Perks of the situation! Despite getting very drunk and very upset on Sunday - the day I found out, I still haven't processed the knowledge, I'm going through the motions... Reminds me of how I felt during a Spill Festival, slipping in and out of reality while seeing performances and then travelling around town. I'm now in that state of limbo, reality is sitting to my right, my tumour to my left, and me in the middle. Looking forward to life really beginning.

[airiejynx]

The Flaneur: In Love With a Four Day Moment

I don't know if it's the fact I have a week off work, the surround of like minded folk, or the accent and giggle of the small Irish woman who sat next to me through the last performance I went to - my heart is racing and my brain is spinning. I am at SPILL festival as a writer, with access to every performance on show. I am here viewing artists working, but not as an artist. Such a strange concept that I'm finding marginally liberating. I'm an alien in my town, part of this strange happening that thousands are unaware of. I sit through a performance in a local venue, and then step back into reality as I walk back along Museum Street towards the high street. Every time this happens, I detach slightly from myself, from my reality. A knowledge of there being more than I am capable of being now hits me. I wonder what will happen when SPILL 2014 is over. I am surrounded in Arlingtons by everyone I have spent the past few days with. It feels as though a lifetime has passed, in a parallel universe. The people around me; artists, writers, performers, a whole bank of amazing people who share this common factor. Ipswich has been hit by an explosion of creativity and talent and I'm not sure that it knows it. Something in me feels the need to break the artistic barrier of reality, not just here, but everywhere. If buzz in this room can be beyond overwhelming, then what is the rest of the world like? I've found it strange having breakfast with these people, drinking and socialising with them; and then walking into a performance and they are leaping around topless pretending to be a horse. A bank of faces and figures, slowly becomes a network of fellow artists, each performance switching them on in the group, their presence validated. I wonder where we, the writers stand in this. At what point did we become part of it? Was it the moment that we walked into the Think Tank on Wednesday night? Or was it the first time we put pen to paper on Thursday afternoon? Regardless, I am here now. And this will stay with me; as artist, as curator or as writer.

[airiejynx]

The Flaneur: Month of No Sketching: 2

03/09/2014

I stayed behind after work against my better judgement, to have a few drinks with my friend, who I had planned an evening in with.

During the first week of the sketch ban, I’d left my sketchbook at work – out of sight out of mind, or so I thought. Somehow, the book ended up out and surrounded by a group of rowdy stockbrokers pouring over each page.

[THETA: I wonder if any of the Freshers in here feel as lost and isolated as I felt sitting in the café at Chichester University].

Noticing myself narrating internally but not onto paper, I pulled out the Moleskine and pen. I instantly felt uneasy. Unsure of what to do and irritated at having to put extra thought into what I was putting down onto paper while my peers surrounded me, requiring a portion of my attention, I couldn’t handle it. I threw the book. How thinly was I obligated to spread myself? I threw the pen too.

Instant relief and anger; why was this such an effort- A mission?